


Under the bridge

by eyasarcher



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky is a really good guy, Clint really needs a hug, Deaf Clint, M/M, Nurse AU, Nurse Bucky, Veteran Clint, eventual winterhawk, homeless Clint, hospital au, mentions of rape and abuse, tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10298132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyasarcher/pseuds/eyasarcher
Summary: Clint is homeless and is constantly finding himself in sticky situations. Bucky probably shouldn't like the tragic homeless guy that ends up outside A&E as much as he does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a new fic i'm getting into.  
> Basically I find myself bored of fics and stuff very quickly, and with the enormously busy work schedule I have, I find it hard to update. But this is something that's been on my mind for a while, and I've decided I'm going to update this either  
> \- Often, but with short chapters.  
> \- Or every few months, with huge updates.  
> But obviously I'm not sure yet. This is just a little taster chapter if you will, I'm excited to be writing again and for you guys to see where this one goes!  
> As per, it's un- beta'd so will probably have multiple tense, grammar, and spelling issues. But hey, shit happens.  
> The song Clint was singing is 'Under the bridge.' by Red Hot Chilli Peppers, something I thought would suit his voice.  
> Thanks again for comments, kudos etc.  
> Love you guys,  
> Sophie

_It's hard to believe_

_That there's nobody out there_

_It's hard to believe_

_That I'm all alone_

_At least I have her love_

_The city she loves me_

_Lonely as I am_

_Together we cry_

 

The words come easy to Clint, sliding off his tongue and pouring from his lips with an innate kind of gravel.

He draws in a deep breath between words and opens his eyes to the city in front of him. He continues to sing, watching each person walking by, and every car passing on the road. His fingers pick at the strings of the guitar, a heavy and reassuring weight against his torso. This song in particular comes naturally, it resonates with him and comes as a release of all those pent up feelings and emotions.

A man in a superdry hoodie and a pair of gym pants chucks a quarter his way, from beside Clint Lucky’s tail thumps and his tongue makes a brief appearance at the idea of human contact, but the man doesn’t give either of them a second glance, continuing on his way.

Clint sighs and watches from the corner of his eye as Lucky settles again, his ears dropping and a low whine coming from the dog as he props his chin back against his paws. Clint knows it’s not fair for Lucky to be in this situation, but the man lacked friends, let alone someone he trusted with his damn dog. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to take him to the pound, what with one eye and his age, the dog wouldn’t stand a chance, he’d be put down almost immediately and Clint was not going to let that happen.

Clint’s voice trails off, he doesn’t finish the song, he favours the low grumble from his stomach and the accompanying whine from Lucky over the melody.

“I know, bud,” he reaches across to rub at the sensitive spot behind the dogs ears to which Lucky perks up, nuzzling against the mans calloused, dirty hand.

A smile settles on Clint’s features as a warm feeling flutters through his insides. He might not have any human companions, but Lucky was enough to fill the void left by the people Clint once called family. And although it’s not entirely fair, Barton is glad that he’s got the dog, he doesn’t feel as cold and alone when Lucky is at his side.

“Want some food?” Lucky’s tail thumps against the pile of blankets with a growing sense of excitement as Clint reaches through his bags and blankets to fetch a can of dog food. He always makes sure to keep Lucky’s supply of water and food fully stocked, forever choosing the dogs welfare over his own.

But hey, it’s not Lucky’s fault they’re homeless. It’s not really Clint’s either, but still. Lucky is cute.

Just as Clint cracks the can open, the scent of dog food hitting his nostrils with sickening force, there’s a gut wrenching screech from the other side of the street. Clint almost drops the can, reaching behind him to grab at the bow he’s got buried beneath the blankets.

His eyes dart up to find the woman who is screaming. She’s being dragged into an alley by a group of three or four men, and she’s frantically struggling against their muscular arms. Clint goes into panic mode.

“Hey!! Hey, leave her alone!” He’s looking at passers-by in a desperate plea for help, but with the sun setting on the city of New York, everyone is walking with a growing sense of urgency, ignoring the poor young woman.

Clint, with shaking hands, works to hook Lucky’s lead around a nearby lamppost and points to the dog, demanding that he stays put. He quickly kicks at the piles of blankets to grab at his bow before racing across the street, dodging people and cars as he does.

“Hey!!” he screams as he enters the mouth of the alley. “Get off of her!”

One man turns to notice Clint, his attention drawing away from the woman and finding his eyes instead. The guy nudges at his friends who promptly loosen their grip on the lady a little.

“Can I help you?” One guy shouts, his voice gruff and deep.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Clint hisses in response, his voice firm and confident despite the shaky feeling in his bones.

“None of your business,” another guy bites.

Clint takes a step forward, his stomach whirling around as he does.

“Get off her.”

The guy who spoke to Clint first drops his hands from the woman completely and moves closer to Clint, his eyes steely and dark.

“What’chu gonna do?”

Clint pulls in a sharp breath before swallowing thickly and moving to brace the bow at his side. The guy takes it as a sign and whispers back to his friends before they drop the woman to the ground, leaving her crawling to get away.

What happens next is blinding and fast, the group are on Clint before he can even move. Thankfully though his years of intense training give him at least a little bit of an advantage. He dodges the first few punches, landing a few solid ones on a couple of the guys, but it’s not long before they’ve fully circled him, kicking and punching until Clint’s sides are numb and his face is sticky with blood.

“That’s enough,” he hears one of them say. “He’s learnt his lesson.”

“But we lost her-“

“I said leave it.”

Clint remains curled up, waiting until their footsteps gain a fair amount of distance before unravelling himself a drawing in a shuddery and uneven breath. He’s in a significant amount of pain with his ribs, his nose is almost definitely broken, and he can’t see through the swelling of his eyes.

 _“Perfect,”_ he thinks as he unfolds and starfishes against the cold of the concrete, his half lidded eyes scanning the darkening sky beyond the towering sky scrapers.

He watches tiny little planes soaring through the midnight blue sky, twinkling little stars emerging from their sleep. And he sighs heavily, a chesty cough grumbling through him as he does.

“Okay,” he groans. “This looks bad.”


	2. Chapter 2

A sudden cold and icy sensation is what starts Clint awake. The blonde tries to crawl away from the cold, struggling to tear himself away from his sleeping bag, and through his post-sleep haze he fails to notice the smirking store-security guard towering over him.

“You can’t stay here.”

Clint stops scrabbling against the concrete and peers up through squinted eyes. The security guard is huge, donning a high visibility jacket, a smirk, and appears to be holding a half empty bottle of water. Clint frowns and looks back to his belongings, only to find that the alcove he’s been sleeping in has become somewhat of a puddle.

“Wait… Did you throw water over me?” Lucky whines from where he’s tucked further into the sheltered alcove, huddled right up against the heavy metal door. Clint notes that his fur is wet too and almost jumps to his feet there and then. “Wait! Did you throw water over my dog!?”

“Move. You can’t stay here. We take deliveries through here,” the guy laughs a little and looks to the water in his hand, and then back to the pair, as if deciding whether or not he wants to chance a second drenching.

“You coulda’ just asked! You didn’t have to soak me, my dog, and just about everything that I own.”

Clint’s hand reaches under the blankets and carrier bags to clasp loosely at his bow, already preparing himself to go down kicking.

“Look, you have ten minutes to pack up and get moving. You look like you’ve been in a fight? Want me to phone the cops and tell them you’ve been terrorising pedestrians?”

Clint’s face softens a little, his heart sinking in his chest. Fuck.

“No? Then get out of here, now.” This time the guy’s face is contorted in anger, his fist clenching around the plastic bottle prompting a spike of fear to hitch in Clint’s stomach. Although a prison cell would be a lot warmer than his current situation, Lucky would get taken away for sure.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.” The archers voice is flat and offended as he begins to scrape together his dampened belongings, frowning as he comes across his now drenched notepad.

“Best be, or I’ll be phoning the cops.”

And with that the store guard moves on, lifting up the lid of a nearby dumpster and throwing the bottle in there, only looking back to send the man a pointed glare.

Clint sighs and slumps a little, he turns to peer at Lucky who is timidly stepping forward obviously afraid of being watered again. Clint loops his arm around his companion’s neck and pulls him a little closer, grunting at the burning feeling in his ribs.

“It’ll be okay, bud.”

After pulling together whatever could be salvaged of his stuff, and slinging his overflowing backpack over his shoulder, Clint loops on Lucky’s lead and gets on his way, squinting up at the rising sun before skimming the New York skyline.

It’s going to be a hot day, so unless he finds somewhere to settle Clint is going to end up lugging around his guitar, bow, and all the rest of his stuff for the proceedings of the day, and given his current state, he’s not sure he’ll be able to make it to see the evening if that’s the case.

He makes it to the mouth of the alley and peers up and down the street, wondering where exactly he should go from here. NY lives up to its reputation, and despite being no later than about 8am, the streets are already crowded and bustling with businessmen and tourists. Clint chances it and tugs Lucky into the crowd, earning himself a few dirty looks and under the breath murmurs. He’s aware that he probably looks a mess, what with a bloodied face, wet clothes, and a certain aroma, he can see why people hiss at the sight of him.

The pair manage to push and shove their way further along the street so that they end up in a more sheltered part of an alley, which runs alongside a cute little cafe. The stench of freshly brewed coffee filters into the man’s nostrils and sends a low grumble through his stomach. God, what he would do to have a nice, warm cup of coffee.

“C’mon, Lucky.” Clint pulls at the lab-retriever, nudging him into the alley. A few people already sit against the walls, one or two shooting up, the others groaning and grunting in hunger or pain. Clint shuffles closer to Lucky, keeping his head up as he tries to ignore their upward glances.

They eventually find an okay-ish place to sit beside one of the dumpsters, there’s rats everywhere but Lucky makes quick work of shooing them all away. And then Clint can finally find some breakfast. He spends a good twenty minutes rummaging through his pack to find a substantial meal that’ll keep him going for the day, eventually deciding on a tin of soup, sure he can’t heat it up, but it’s better than nothing.

Before cracking into his own food, Clint drags out Lucky’s gross old bowl and wipes at it with his sleeve before peeling open a small can of dog food and emptying into the bowl. Lucky takes it gratefully and drops down beside the man to enjoy his breakfast. Clint smiles affectionately, his hand reaching out to brush through the thick sandy fur.

He sighs contently and opens his own tin, grimacing at the sight of the stodgy, thick soup. There was a time where his diet was strictly take out, a luxury that seems like it belonged to an entire different lifetime.

“Yes. Finally!”

Clint peers up from where he’s just took a sip of the soup, the red liquid staining the hair on his upper lip. Another homeless man, an elderly guy is looking to the opening of the alley, pulling himself from beneath his piles of blanket and looking forwards, his entire face lit up.

Lucky is watching too, briefly looking up Clint, questioning his owner with his eyes. Clint looks back down at the dog and shrugs. He proceeds to take another sip of his soup, closing his eyes to relish the feeling of food on his tongue.

“Hey.”

And he almost chokes, swallowing thickly and snapping his eyes open, ready to fend anyone else off. But what greets him is the concerned, and warm gaze of a very well presented man. He’s got short blonde hair that is neatly trimmed at the fringe, his bright blue eyes are warm and gentle, and his skin is clean and shaven. Clint frowns past his can and looks between the man and the rest of alley, noticing that there is another lady walking up and down the alley, one with textured blonde hair.

 “Can I help you?” Clint asks curiously as he swipes at his lip with his sleeve, flinching a little when he catches the split there from the scuffle yesterday.

The new man laughs a little and drops to the floor in front of the archer, immediately prompting Clint to shuffle back against the wall a little and give the man a firm glare.

“You’re new to this part of town?” The blonde asks as he reaches back to unclip a backpack.

“I’m not new, just haven’t actually settled anywhere around here before. I’ve recently trekked over from Brooklyn.”

The blonde smiles, pearly whites and all.

“I’m from Brooklyn as well, over here for work. I’m Steve by the way.” Steve plops the bag in his lap and begins to rummage through it. Clint stays back, still wondering what the hell this stranger wants. It’s then that Steve starts pulling cans and packets from his bag, all food and little cartons of drink. Clint raises an eyebrow in curiosity, today might be his lucky-ish day.

“I work for a local hospital. Every Thursday, Sunday, and Tuesday a select few of us go around Manhattan and the surrounding areas handing out food and supplying free healthcare for those that need it.” Of course Steve looks up at this point, his eyes scanning Clint’s bloodied face. “And you look like you could use a hand.”

Clint huffs and laughs a little, taking another long swig of his soup before sighing and looking down at Lucky, gently running his hand through the dog’s fur.

“So, Steve. Where do you get all the food? And how the heck am I supposed to believe that you can offer me free healthcare?”

The blonde laughs at that, and begins to push food cans and drinks bottles in Clint’s direction, earning himself a curious sniff from Lucky.

“Well, we’ve got sponsorship. From Stark industries?”

Clint laughs out loud, his jaw protesting and his lip screaming as he does. Steve tilts his head a little and looks to Clint, his eyebrows knotting together to form a frown.

“Now that’s just some kind of fucked up.” The archer giggles as he clutches his chest, trying to dull the ache in his ribs.

“What?” Steve asks, all wide eyed and curious.

“I worked for Stark industries, once upon a time.” Clint’s smile falls a little as a lump rises in his throat, the bitter taste of his past sitting at the back of his mouth. Steve is watching on, his expression thickening with concern.

“Really?”

Clint nods and looks into his lap, dropping his eyes to avoid letting anything on.

“Yeah…” Steve draws in a deep breath and looks around, anywhere but at Clint. His shoulders fall, and his head ducks between them. And from the corner of his eyes, if he didn’t know any better, Clint would say that Steve was ashamed, and he actually feels kind of bad. “That was way before I ended up here though.” Steve looks up as Clint points to his ears, the stark made hearing aids nestled there. “War fucks you over, apparently so do landlords.”

Steve smiles sadly at that and picks up a bottle, handing it to the archer. “You haven’t told me your name,” he says calmly.

“Clint.”

Steve grins broadly, and his expression brightens up.

“Well, Clint. You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

The archer snorts and twists off the cap of the water bottle, looking at it suspiciously and thinking back to the fiasco earlier that morning.

“You could say that.”

Steve’s gaze switches from Clint to Lucky, he timidly extends a hand to the dog, and he waits patiently as Lucky inspects the hand, before reaching up and running it down the dog’s spine. Lucky, being a complete idiot, immediately misaligns all the blankets by twisting onto his stomach and prompting Steve to give him attention, bring a chuckle out of the man.

“Well, Lucky and I are just good at picking fights with the wrong people.”

Steve looks up at that, his thick expression back again. Clint is starting to suspect that this guy is some kind of do-gooder to the extreme, worried about everyone other than himself. Huh.

“What kind of wrong people?” Steve’s voice is a little more venomous. Clint takes a swig of the drink before screwing the cap back on and placing it beside his tin of soup, feeling a little nauseous at the sight of the lumpy stuff.

“People who think its okay to take advantage of woman.”

Steve almost growls, an animalistic kind of noise slips past his lip as he glares off into the distance.

“Disgusting excuse for human beings,” he murmurs before turning back to Clint. “If this is what you look like, I’d hate to see them,” his voice lifts a little as he says it, a kind of smirk sits in his voice.

“Pfft, I gave them their just desserts.” Clint lies, because although he’d landed a fair few punches, he’d definitely come out looking worse. But in his defence, he was outnumbered.

Steve seems to pick up on the lie, but doesn’t let that slip, instead he reaches across and places a firm hand on Clint’s shoulder, smiling at the other man.

“I’ve got a friend down at the hospital, when we were younger I always used to get myself into fights with the wrong people, always ended up needing some stitches. I can take you down there to see him? He’ll be able to fix you up, and we can get you a shower and some warm clothes whilst we’re there. Sound good?”

Clint feels himself flush red, astounded that anyone wants to help him. Usually when people see a homeless guy in New York they run a mile, let alone a bloodied one. And it’s been so long since he’d been shown any kindness or praise, so the emotions overwhelm him a little. He peers up at Steve through glistening eyes.

“That’d be great. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably loads of grammatical and spelling errors in this, but I wrote it at like 6am so give me a break ;) though seriously, this will probably undergo heavy editing at some point, but for the time being, this is the chapter!  
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos, love you guys!  
> Sophie


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As per, apologises for any typos and grammatical errors, but thank you for the love in the comments.  
> Love you guys, enjoy!  
> Sophie x

_Nothing left within, I've been mined_

_Hell and back again, subterranean_

_I've been digging in down inside_

_I will start again, subterranean_

_But the truth is so unkind_

_What do you know, how low the sky_

_Yet the truth is so unkind_

_What do you know, how low the sky_

Clint mumbles along absently to the soft croon of Dave Grohl’s voice, his eyes peaking out beyond the window pane, watching as the streets and traffic roll by. It’s been a long time since he was last in a car, he frowns a little as he tries to remember the last time he was and in doing so his singing picks up a bit.

“You like Foo Fighters?”

Steve’s voice takes the man by surprise and the archer jumps a little, forgetting that he’s not alone. Steve must have seen the jolt in Clint’s body, but clearly has an understanding of people on the streets because he chooses to ignore it. Instead he flicks his eyes to the back seat where Lucky and Clint’s belongings are sprawled across the seats and lingers on the old guitar.

Clint smiles a little and adjusts himself so that he’s actually facing Steve. He might not be used to the company of others anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten his manners.

“My brother used to love them, used to play _The Colour and The Shape_ album  religiously when we were in our teens, and I guess I’ve just loved them ever since.” Clint smiles a little sadly, the song coming to an end against their conversation. Steve doesn’t say much just smiles and nods, and Clint feels a bit awkward being in the presence of such a pristine looking stranger. “What about you? You’ve got the album in so you must like them?”

Steve laughs, looking a little bashful as he does.

“You know what, I don’t really know a lot of their songs. The guy who we’re going to see now? This is his album.”

Clint smiles at that, already feeling a little more at ease because hey, this guy likes foo fighters so if nothing else, at least they’ve got that in common. “So you must be pretty close with him then if his cd’s are in your car?”

Steve laughs again, except this time his smile reaches his eyes, and Clint can see how much he lights up.

“He’s actually my best friend. We’re both insured on this car because we used to live together, but he recently moved out to get his own place so now I mostly use the car, but all of his stuff is still in here.” Steve draws in a deep breath, looking at Clint as they sit at a red light. “If you don’t mind me asking, Clint. You said you got kicked out or whatnot, was there no-one you could turn to?”

Clint tenses up a little, his back, shoulders, and jaw locking up as he contemplates where to begin, or if he should even tell the guy. I mean c’mon, he’s only known him for like forty minutes.

“Well,” the archer sighs, his gaze dropping to the foot-well of the passenger seat. “After I came back from doing a particularly long tour, I returned to find that my building had been retained by a company that wanted to demolish it to make room for newer buildings. Of course I protested wildly but the new landlord was having none of it and told me I had ten days to get out. Now my friend and dog sitter, Kate is currently in LA and is living out of her car, so that wasn’t an option. I haven’t got any family really, and all my neighbours were in the same predicament as me.”

Steve’s gaze has grown intense and thick, his brows knitted together in a tight frown. He sighs before pulling away from the lights, his expression still dark and brooding. “Was there no-one that you knew from your time in the forces?” he probes, his voice riddled with sympathy, something that kind of makes Clint’s skin crawl.

“There were people I was close to, one woman in particular. But then I got blown up, sent home, and got given a medical discharge, the last time I saw her was three years ago in Afgan. Don’t even know if she got home.” Clint’s heart is heavy with the memory of his friend. He had been only nineteen when he joined the forces, best shot there was. He’d remained there for six years until his discharge at the age of twenty-five. He’d known the woman, Natasha, for five of those six years, and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t miss her.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Wish the world was kinder to you.” Steve sighs, his voice all solemn and dark. Clint just shrugs and sighs, forcing a flat smile onto his face.

“It’s alright. There are people who are in worse positions than me.” Clint peers over his shoulder to Lucky, who is fast asleep against the back seats. Steve clocks this and smiles, his face once again lighting up.

“You’re a good man, Clint.”

Clint says nothing, and instead slips further into the seat, basking in the warmth and comfort of the car.

They arrive at the hospital around fifteen minutes after falling into a sort of comfortable silence, and Clint is a little in awe because it’s not even some charity based hospital run out of a converted warehouse, it’s a proper hospital, polished floors and all.

The archer feels out of place as he follows Steve into the main reception, Lucky hot on his heels. There are plenty of homeless people sat around A&E, some curled over a hot cup, others muttering under their breaths as they watch Clint with raw red eyes.

Lucky whines and nudges Clint’s leg with his shoulder, the man reaches down and runs his fingers through the dogs sandy coat. “It’s okay, bud.”

“Back already? I was expecting you to be gone for at least four hours and come back with at least three people.” The brown eyed receptionist sings, his voice teasing and light as he looks between Steve and Clint.

“Yeah, well he’s a newbie to this side of town.” Steve grins at Clint and looks back at the receptionist. “Clint, this is Sam. He’s going to need to take a few details, just for security and stuff. Is that okay?”

“Does he need Lucky’s too?” Clint chuckles and nods at Sam before accepting a clipboard from the smiling man. Sam clocks the dog and lets out a chuckle, looking back to Steve.

“I like this one. Not often you find anyone with a sense of humour still intact.”

“Did I hear right, or did you just say Steve’s actually brought someone back that still has a sense of humour?”

Clint looks up at the new voice and immediately clocks the newbie, and he’s pretty sure that if one hand wasn’t clinging to the reception desk, that he would’ve fallen to the floor in awe. The nurse, who is donning white and blue scrubs, is nothing like he expected. The man is tall and muscular, with wide shoulders and a sculpted jaw. He has long dark hair pulled back into a messy bun, and piercing grey eyes. Clint also notes the name tag ‘James’ and the bitchin’ prosthetic arm which is so obviously Stark made.

“Shut up, Buck. Just because half of these people don’t want to hear your crappy jokes, doesn’t mean they don’t have a sense of humour.” Steve’s smile is broad and wide, just like the one from earlier in the car, and as James nears the trio, Steve throws an arm over the man’s shoulder and pulls him under his arm. “And Clint, this is Bucky. He’ll be the one seeing to you later on.”

James, or Bucky, peers up at Clint and smiles brightly, his mouth hitching in the corner to form a kind of smirk. He flips a clipboard between hands and extends Clint his flesh one, never breaking his gaze.

“Hey, I’m James formally, but I’m known to most as Bucky.”

Clint’s sure that if he wasn’t donning the most horrific beard that his blush would probably light up his face, but thankfully he’s covered as he takes Bucky’s hand.

“Clinton formally, but I’m known to everyone as Clint.”

Bucky laughs at that, his smile growing.

“You know what Sam, I like this one as well.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware of typos and errors, I'm rubbish at proof reading.  
> Anywho, sorry for the lack of update on this fic, I've been all over the place (literally.)  
> I had a wedding in Malta, for which I was over there an entire week. A wedding reception back in the UK, a concert in London last week, and then me a friend travelled 8 hours to go and see The Avengers: Infinity War set. I saw spoilers, but I also met Joe Russo, saw how tiny RDJ is in person, and saw how huge Chris Hemsworth's biceps are.  
> But anyways, veering away from the main point here, I've been away!  
> Hopefully this story will be updated AT LEAST once a month, but I can't promise anything.  
> Thanks for the patience and love as always,  
> Sophie xx

Clint sighs heavy and prolonged, he leans forward and braces his hands against the tiled walls of the shower cubicle, tilting his head backwards a little to bask in the warmth of the water.

It’s been 4+ months since he last had a shower, and even longer since he last had a warm one at that, and despite how the water seeps into his open cuts setting them on fire, he feels somewhat relaxed and calm, having not felt either of those things for an upward of 3 years.

The man scratches delicately at the scarred skin behind his ears, he can’t really hear much without his aids in, mostly just the distant rushing sound of the water and the muffle of a conversation taking place beyond the walls of the cubicle. He draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, leaning forwards to rest his forehead against the cool white tiles. He breathes through the chest, groaning a little when he jars his ribs with the deep intake of air, and yet he still uses the techniques to try and still the fluttery feeling in his stomach that comes with the vulnerability of not having his ears in. Instead though, it just works to stop the shaky feeling in his knees, not the way that his heart is overcompensating on behalf of his anxiety.

So, with a frustrated grunt Clint clicks off the shower and leaves its warm embrace.

Once he’s washed and dressed in the fresh clothes that Steve had left out for him, Clint stumbles back into the waiting room, the one that he’d been shown before being guided to the showers. He tugs nervously on the grey sleeves of his newly acquired hoodie and tries to take a moment to centre himself, but his hands are itching for a distraction like a guitar or a bow riser.

There’s a few others lounging around the room, they’re all obviously homeless as well but Clint is sure he probably looks the worst, what with his 3 month old beard and a face that’s been beaten black and blue.

He shuffles again, hopping between feet unsure of whether he should seek out his belongings and Lucky, of whom Steve promised to look after, or whether he should stick around here and actually wait for his check-up. The former is definitely his favourable option.

Clint begins to turn back from the direction he’d came earlier on, but he’s promptly spinning back around on his heels at the sound of his name being called.

“Clint, Barton,” James is looking at him kind of smug, one hand on his hip and the other clutching a clipboard, “You’re up.”

Clint inwardly curses himself for spending longer than necessary in the shower and reluctantly begins to move in James’ direction, his anxiety all the while building in his chest.

“M’ coming.”

James’ office is unlike a normal Doctors office, there’s papers piled high on the desk-top, and he’s got little photo frames that are turned away so that Clint can’t see the pictures. But what Clint enjoys most is the little air fresheners dotted all over the place, so that the room smells less clinical and more welcoming.

“I’m glad this room doesn’t smell like the rest of the hospital,” the archer says absently still peering around the office. James snorts and falls into the chair on the other side of the desk, waving a hand for Clint to sit down in the opposite one.

“So, Clint Barton. Do you have any existing medical conditions that I should know of?” James peers up at the man, his whole demeanour relaxed.

“Can’t you just pull up my notes?” Clint doesn’t mean to sound so snippy when he says it, but he doesn’t fancy playing therapy right now.

James just smirks around the pen he’s chewing on and leans back in his chair, kicking his legs up onto the desk.

“Unfortunately our system is down today.”

Clint rolls his shoulders uncomfortably and huffs, typical.

“Well, I’m 75% deaf in my left ear, and 67% in my right ear. I wear hearing aids constantly apart from when I intend on going to sleep,” he draws in a deep breath, expecting James to jump on him and ask how that happened, but instead the nurse sits patiently with his pen paused against the paper, “I urm, also have PTSD and GAD… Oh, and a minor allergy to strawberries,” he says the last part around a tight lipped smile and earns himself another smirk from James.

“No strawberries for Barton,” James chuckles, but his playful expression quickly falls away as he meets Clint’s eyes, “How long have you had PTSD and GAD.”

Clint swallows thickly as he bites his tongue in an attempt to stifle the taste of sick.

“I’ve had GAD since I was 19, well at least that’s when it was diagnosed, though I’ve suffered from anxiety attacks for as long as I can remember. And the PTSD I’ve had for around 4 years.”

James scribbles something down before placing the clipboard on the desk and kicking his legs down to lean forwards in the chair, his expression solemn.

“This examination will mean physical contact, and I need to know that you’re okay for me to touch and examine you?” Clint’s head spins thinking back to the first time a doctor had tried to touch him after coming home, it threw him completely and left the poor Dr with a broken wrist, so it was nice to meet a medical professional who actually got peoples personal space. He nods meekly and fiddles with the threads of his jeans, “and just quickly, how’d you get those lovely arrays of cuts and bruises?”

Clint laughs a little and moves to ghost his fingers across the split lip he’s donning.

“Well, some people don’t understand consent and think it’s well within their rights to take advantage of lone women in New York.”

James’ face darkens as his expression shutters completely.

“Bastards. Hope you taught them a lesson?”

“Yep, don’t worry.”

James smirks a little and sighs, rubbing his metal hand across his face in an exasperated manner.

“Sorry, probably shouldn’t swear in the presence of patients but I hate human beings sometimes,” his Brooklyn accent clips at his voice more now than Clint had noticed before, must be something that surfaces when he’s mad.

“It’s fine. This doesn’t seem like your typical hospital so I’ll let you get away with it.”

James meets Clint’s eyes and smiles a little wider, sighing again and pulling himself up to stand. He gestures to the blue examination table and gives Clint a rather sorry look.

“I know it’s not ideal and probably completely out of your comfort zone, but unfortunately this is a full body examination and requires you to be semi-naked. You get to keep your underwear on of course, but really everything else needs to be removed.”

Clint raises an eyebrow and stands up shakily, his knees threatening to give way at the idea of getting undressed.

“If you want me naked, there’s much easier ways to go about it.” Clint doesn’t even realise the gravity of what he’s said until it’s out and his cheeks are burning red. James however, is laughing despite how inappropriate the joke may have seemed.

“Calm down hot shot, just need to check for anything suspicious,” he puts a gentle hand on Clint’s shoulder and guides him to the edge of the table.

“Suspicious?” Clint bites, feeling rather affronted because Jesus Christ, not every homeless guy is a druggie. James spots his mishap and looks somewhat horrified.

“No, no. I’m not accusing you of anything, I’ve just had a patients who’ve accidentally laid or slept on the likes of used needles and broken glass.”

“I’m sure I’d know if-“

“HIV is silent, and can go undetected for weeks. The same goes for infections from small cuts and abrasions, you won’t know until it’s too late.”

“Okay.” Clint doesn’t want to hear any more, instead he moves quickly to remove his hoodie and undershirt, hissing when he pulls the shirt off too quickly and tweaks his ribs again, and he’s about to carry on getting undressed when Bucky presses his flesh hand to Clint’s shoulders, giving him a warm but concerned smile.

“We’ll do the top half first, I need to get a look at those ribs,” he leans forward to ghost a hand along the bruises flowering across the majority right side of the man’s body. He stops himself and looks up at Clint, his eyes asking for permission to which Clint silently nods. “Okay, are there any centralised or specific pains?”

“Mostly on my right side, where the bruises are.”

James sighs through his nostrils and ducks in closer to Clint, his gaze flickering between the left and right side.

“I’m really sorry but what I’m about to do is really going to suck. I need to feel around for any fractures or breaks, and although it may irritate them a little, it won’t do any further damage. Okay?” he looks up all wide eyed and serious, an expression that sends a wave of heat through Clint’s body because goddamn, this man is even more attractive close up.

“Yep, do what you gotta do.”

“Let me know if it gets too much.”

And with that James moves in with a gloved metal hand and his flesh one, massaging at the swollen ribs and feeling the tissues beneath the black of the bruises. Clint sucks in a deep breath and regrets it immediately, a burning pain sears up through his chest and rips the air out of his body. His breathing becomes more laboured and James picks up on it.

“Easy. Just take small slow breaths.” Clint tethers himself to the table, his fingers curling around the edge as he tries to even out his breathing, “that’s it,” coaxes James.

The nurse’s hands move past each rib, pressing gently along the extent of each before moving on, and after a while James leans back and pulls a stethoscope up to his ears.

“Okay, I just need to check you’ve got no rattle going on.  You don’t appear to have any breaks, probably just a few little cracks, but just in case I’ve missed something I’m going to check for the sound of fragments or a chest infection,” James keeps Clint’s gaze as he moves to press the metal circle to the archers chest. “It’s very important that you look after yourself following this exam. With a few cracked ribs you’re more susceptible to chest infections. The ribs will heal on their own, but you need to watch yourself,” James’ voice is quiet and low as he moves the circle across Clint’s chest and then to the centre of his back.

“Me, not look after myself, pfft.” Clint chuckles as James pulls away from the archer with a raised eyebrow and a smirk to match.

“I know a punk when I see one, I’ve lived with Steve since I was 7 and when we were younger he was always getting himself in deep water.” James seems to notice he’s overshared and ducks his head a little, some strands of hair flitter from the messy bun and fall across his face.

“My brother was always the one getting himself into sticky situations, I mean sure, I’m not exactly the model student in looking after yourself, but I’m probably still more organised than him.” Clint offers, his smile warm and gentle. James looks up and chuckles, moving to tuck the hair back behind his ear.

“And yet the last time I checked, you were living on the streets.” James ventures, a risky joke but one that Clint appreciates.

“Shit am I? Goddamnit, here I was thinking this whole situation is just a terrible nightmare.” Clint claps his hands to his cheeks in a dramatic fashion and mocks being shocked.

James laughs all genuine and loud, something that dulls the fires of Clint’s mind and instead warms his core, it’d been a long time since he’d had a decent conversation with anyone.

“Anyways,” James keels back over and tries to pull a serious expression onto his features, only bringing further laughter from Clint, “I should probably get a look at your face.”

“Sure.” Clint’s laughter dissipates as he too tries to level himself and get serious, but something about the brightness in James’ eyes brings a smile to his face. The nurse leans forward and brushes Clint’s fringe away from the cuts above his eyebrow, a gesture that has Clint’s heart pounding in his chest.

“Most of them are just scratches,” James hooks his metal hand under Clint’s chin and adjusts his head accordingly, his movements soft and careful, “although you either have a broken nose or you’ve fractured your eye socket. You’ve got a whole lot of bruising and swelling in that region,” James’ flesh hand runs down the incline of Clint’s nose, “Mind if I?”

Clint shrugs and tries not to jolt when the man very gently pinches the bridge of his nose, moving his way down slowly. He has to close his eyes and force himself not to watch James’ face, the man is so close that the archer can feel the heat from his breath tickling the hairs of his beard.

“I think it’s definitely a break in the upper part of your nose, which explains all the bruising around your eyes. Unfortunately there’s not much we can do about that either, something that just heals on its own. You’re definitely going to have to come back, I want to keep an eye on the process.” James tilts Clint’s chin so that he opens his eyes, the two now only inches away and making direct eye contact.

“Okay.” Clint says weakly earning himself a small smile from the nurse.

The rest of the check-up goes without any major findings, James gives Clint another lecture on looking after himself, but mostly it’s just Clint blushing and fumbling when having to remove clothing in front of the other man. But James has obviously been doing this long enough and remains completely professional, telling Clint he can pop his shirt and hoodie back on and then take off his jeans, so that he doesn’t feel exposed to the cold.

“You’ve got another appointment in few days,” James starts scribbling on a little appointment slip, “Give this to Sam at reception, and if he’s not there it’ll be Scott. For the next few weeks you’ll have an appointment at least once a week, I need to make sure you’re keeping on top of those ribs.”

“Thanks James.”

The nurse snaps his head up, his expression somewhat unreadable.

“Bucky, you can call me Bucky.”

Clint grins, all wide and toothy in an attempt to hide the blush he’s wearing.

“Thanks Bucky,” he moves to get out of his seat but Bucky makes a startled noise which makes Clint jump a little.

“And before I forget, here’s the address and number for our local charity based vets! They do consultations, jabs, neutering, and de-fleaing free of charge,” James smiles up at Clint, handing him two separate pieces of paper, “Medication costs, but if you throw my name in there I’m sure they’ll give Lucky his first prescription free of charge.”

Clint can’t stop the swell of emotions, not only have these people taken him in and gave him warmth, water, food, and kindness, but they’re also looking out for the one being that means everything to Clint.

“I… I can’t thank you enough. Thank you so muc-“

Bucky waves his hands in the air and looks up at Clint with a broad smile.

“Don’t mention it. Now go on, go find Lucky. I’ll see you in a few days, Clint.”


	5. Chapter 5

_A million miles away_

_Your signal in the distance_

_To whom it may concern_

_I think I lost my way_

_Getting good at starting over_

_Every time that I return_

Clint opens his eyes to the sound of a coin hitting his mug, he sends a sharp nod in the direction of the umbrella clad couple that had thrown a quarter his way. They don’t pay him any further attention though, instead wrestling the umbrella in an attempt to stay out of the rain.

The day had started off bright and warm, much to Barton’s dismay, but now he’s kind of wishing that it had stayed that way. He peers down at Lucky whose nose is poking out from underneath the rain mac Clint had draped over him, and he longs to take the poor dog somewhere warm and dry, wanting nothing more than for Lucky to be looked after properly.

Since catching a ride back into town and having to say a brief and oddly emotional goodbye to Steve, Clint has found his thoughts to be plagued by doubt, wandering whether he made the right decision in bringing Lucky out here with him. Sure, at the time it seemed like a much better option than sending the poor bastard off to the pound, but Bucky’s information regarding the cost of medication these days has left the archer with a bitter taste in his mouth.

And on top of that supressing train of thought, Clint is only now coming to the realisation of how much he misses the basic human touch, the encounter with Bucky leaving him flustered and confused. It had been three years since he’d last been treated as an actual human being and not a sack of shit.

He’d never really been one for friends, his own family destroying all notions of love, responsibility and intimacy so early on that Clint had never really bothered to seek out relationships, but after joining the army and finding a sense of belonging, Natasha is who Clint came to call his best friend.

Natasha Romanoff was the closest thing Clint ever had to a family, he still remembers the lines on her face and the dangerous curve of her crimson smile. The two met in Clint’s first year of service only four months in, and following their first encounter remained pretty much joined at the hip, everyone knowing that they came as a package deal.

At the end of the year, Natasha came home with him to spend Christmas in Bed-Stuy, it wasn’t something that was really discussed, they each lacked relatives and close friends so it only made sense for them to be together during the most festive time of year. Clint can remember that December so vividly. He and Natasha spent Christmas day in their pyjamas watching crappy films on the seasonal channel and eating their weight in chocolate and cheese. It was by no means traditional, given the lack of presents and general air of celebration, but it was nonetheless Clint’s most favourite Christmas.

Natasha however, had got Clint a couple of presents, one of which was a cheap little tattoo machine from eBay, something that followed an inside joke about tattooing klutz onto Barton’s forehead, and after a few beers and much deliberation, they ended up tattooing one another. Obviously the little symbols aren’t to a professional standard, the lines thick and wobbly, both sets blowing out an hour or so afterwards, but Clint wouldn’t have it any other way.

His voice trembles a little when his eyes find the faded hour glass tattoo hiding just under the sleeve of his coat, it takes all of his strength not to stop singing and break down there and then. The last time he’d seen Natasha was the day he was airlifted from base. He was delirious with a head full of bandages, his body in a state of pure shock.

Natasha hadn’t left his side from the minute that he was blown up, working to press her palms to the deep wounds in his shoulders and chest, and even when Clint was being prepped to leave the base in the safe hands of medical professionals, Natasha was there hovering over him and trying her best to keep him conscious.

 _“Love you.”_ Clint had watched her mouth, her expression caught between sorrow and strength. He’d reached out and placed a bloodied hand on her own.

 _“See you back home,”_ he’d said, prompting a weak smile on Natasha’s behalf. She’d leant down and pressed a delicate kiss to the searing skin of Clint’s cheek.

 _“See you soon,”_ she’d said carefully, making sure to pronounce the words clearly.

And that was it. That was the very last time he’d seen her.

After being flown off base, Clint ended up in a specialist hospital in Vienna where he stayed for two weeks whilst he healed up enough to deal with a long haul flight back home. It was isolated and scary, he’d wake up in the night apparently screaming and shouting, but it wasn’t the nightmares that terrified him, it was waking up to the reality of the situation. Nurses would desperately try to comfort him, placing gentle hands on his arms and face, but the ice cold fear of not being able to hear their words were what sent Clint into a panic.

After his time finished in Vienna he was flown to another specialist hospital in Colorado where he was housed for five weeks of intense therapy and sign language lessons. It was there that he was told there was a strong possibility of him being able to regain up to 40% of his hearing in his right ear, and 35% in his left, but only through the use of specific hearing aids developed by one Tony Stark, the founder and owner of Stark Industries.

Clint was absolutely shattered when he was told the news, in a state of denial at his inability to afford the damn things, apparently though it was a cheaper alternative to surgery, and it was only when he’d accidentally bumped into another vet in the hall, coming in his for his tri-monthly check up that’d he found out about Stark’s charity based work for veterans, and it gave Clint a glimmer of hope for being able to get the aids.

Once he was deemed well enough to be discharged, the hundreds of thousands of dollars that Clint had gained from his time in the forces was whittled down to a little under $6,000, not enough for him to pay rent and live a merry happy life. Luckily though Kate intercepted and insisted that he stay with her in LA for a few months until he felt stable enough to head back to Brooklyn on his own.

Clint was grateful for her presence in his life, if it wasn’t for Kate he probably wouldn’t be alive right now. She’d been incredibly patient and kind with Clint during his first few weeks out of hospital, spoiling him with takeaways and movie nights, whilst also cradling him during the worst of his nightmares, and once she was sure he was on the mend, she dragged his ass to Stark headquarters and demanded that Clint get an appointment, which no thankfully to her scary face and venomous tone of voice, he’d got on the day.

Tony Stark was not at all what Clint had expected, he was obviously a little flamboyant and a bit much at times, but mostly he was humble and happy to help, sitting across from Clint with an open expression as he listened to the archer explain his situation. He then briefed Clint on what kind of hearing aids were available to him; how they worked, how to clean them, how they’d need to go about making them, and what sort of periods of time he should be wearing them for, not once mentioning the cost. Clint had timidly asked after Stark started flicking through paperwork in an attempt to find a free slot for him to get his moulds done. Tony had looked up and huffed a laugh, waving his hand dismissively.

“ _You don’t pay for your first set, they’re on me.”_

The weeks following were spent in and out of Tony’s building, getting measurements and moulds taken, going over catalogues containing colours and shapes. Barton enjoyed Stark’s company, not only was Tony able to sign pretty fluently, but he never once treated Clint like he was anything other than a normal guy, even on the day that he had a panic attack in Tony’s office, crowding himself into a corner and hiding away from the world. Stark had sat on the floor across from Clint and waited it out, offering the man snippets of comfort through the use of sign language, and once he’d calmed down enough to stop hysterically crying Clint was surprised to see a smile on Tony’s lips.

_“Used to get those constantly when I first got back from Afghan. They fucking suck.”_

But once it hit the two month mark and the hearing aids were made and ready to be used, Clint was dunked back into the icy waters of reality, scared to hear again for the first time in six months. Tony had carefully clipped them into Clint’s ears, the plastic feeling foreign and scratchy against the delicate tissue of his scarred ears.

 _“It’s going to be weird, and they’re not going to feel quite right for a while.”_ Tony had signed across Clint’s shoulder as he did some scans of the little objects, checking that they were ready to be activated.

 _“I’ll be alright.”_ Clint had said, his voice notably uneven and loud from the lack of use. Tony had pulled away with a serious expression and nodded, gesturing to a nearby lab tech with a little wave.

And then he was hearing it all, the low hum of the machinery and the huff of Tony’s breathing. Clint’s head snapped up to meet Tony’s gaze, he couldn’t fight the tears that came to his eyes as he rubbed at his unshaven cheeks hearing the scratching sound it made.

“ _Oh my god,”_ he whispered, jumping a little at the sound of his own voice.

 _“It’s going to take some getting used to, and you’re not going to be able to hear very well over multiple layers of sound like a gig or a mall, but everything else should clarify after a week or two.”_ Clint could hear the smile in Tony’s voice, and he couldn’t do anything but grin back, insanely happy and surprised at regaining the sense.

“ _Thank you, Tony. Thank you so much,”_ he’d wasted no time in lunging for the billionaire he’d come to call his friend, pulling him into a rough hug. Tony had laughed a little and briefly hugged back before pulling away.

“ _So I also know that you’re struggling with money, and since I think that you deserve a bit of a break and a chance to catch up with life, I want to offer you a temporary position at Stark Industries. It’s as a lab assistant, so you’ll just be helping to grab equipment for me and run tests on individuals and tech. The position is only open for a month until Dummy is fixed up and ready to go, but I can pay you on a weekly basis.”_

Tears had brimmed in Clint’s eyes when he pulled Tony in again, this time clinging to him like he might be a life line.

“ _Tony, thank you.”_

When Clint had told Kate she’d tried to force him out of the apartment insisting that they go out for celebratory drinks, but she had quickly given up when Clint had told her he wasn’t ready to be hearing layers of sound in a pub or club yet, instead popping out to grab a few beers.

That month was weirdly enough one of the best of Clint’s life. Adjusting to hearing again sucked, especially when he had to take the aids out to sleep at night only to wake up with an anxiety attack a few hours later, but he was on the path to getting better and the support from Kate and Tony was overwhelming.

He found it nice to be in a normal work position, nine till five, five days a week, not having to snipe out a terrorist cell or live in fear of being blown up by an IED, but he did miss Natasha. He spent days pawing through google and Facebook trying desperately to find the woman, but to no avail. Her phone had been cut off and Clint suddenly realised that he knew very little about contacting her, there had never been a need to go to Natasha’s place since they always ended up at his, so he didn’t even know where she lived.

But the lack of Natasha was made up for by the abundance of Kate and Lucky, the two working to keep Clint on his toes and in one piece. Kate was a little younger than Clint, Barton being her elder by four years. The two had met whilst Kate was over in Brooklyn for the winter, Lucky had slipped his leash and given Clint the run around, Kate was the one to pretty much rugby tackle the dog to the ground, murmuring something about how she couldn’t watch the charade any longer. From there Clint’s evenings strolls with Lucky had taken a turn for the better once Kate started joining them, and it was only once Clint was getting ready to head back to Afghan that Kate had taken Lucky and promised to look after him whilst the archer was gone.

So it came as a shock to the system when Clint headed back home with just Lucky, the empty space in the centre of his chest once again opening up and sending waves of loneliness through the man. Tony had offered Barton a place at Stark Industries once his month was up, determined to keep Clint on, but the archer knew it was time that he headed back home to re-coup and start fresh, turning Tony down but persisting to thank him multiple times anyway.

Kate had said her goodbyes and promised to visit Clint in a month or so once she got back from her well-deserved break on the other side of town. Except he didn’t see her again, because by the time she’d of turned up at the apartment the whole thing would have been torn down to the ground.

The thought makes Clint shudder against his guitar, the weight of his losses sitting heavy on his shoulders. He takes a moment to muster the energy to finish the song, raindrops parading down his face as he closes his eyes and tries to shape the words in his mind.

 

_I'm learning to walk again_

_I believe I've waited long enough_

_I'm learning to talk again_

_Can't you see I've waited long enough?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, a quick little update before I get drowned by work.  
> I wanted to give you guys a bit of insight into Clint's past and why can't just find his friends and live with them, it's a hell of a lot more complicated than that for our poor archer.  
> As always thank you again for comments, kudos, and general love. I'm having a really shitty time at the moment but this story grounds me, and you guys never fail to bring a smile to my face.  
> Hope you're having a good week!  
> Sophie xo  
> P.S. Please ignore typos and errors, I'll get around to editing eventually!!
> 
> (Song mentioned: Walk, by the Foo Fighters)


	6. Chapter 6

_The hospital was eerily quiet as Clint lay staring into the dark, his uninjured hand laying spread across his chest to feel the thudding of his heart, the beating working to keep him grounded. He looks to his right and sees the silhouette of another soldier slumped in his bed, the man is clearly awake from the way that he’s propped up on the pillows, but he’s almost perfectly still apart from the occasional full body twitch, he has bandages wrapped across his eyes and the majority of his head. Clint suspects that the poor guy had been deafened as well as blinded._

_Clint swallows thickly and rolls his head back to look up at the ceiling. Tears come to his eyes when he thinks about never being able to listen to his favourite AC/DC track again, or ever hearing Lucky whining to be let into the bathroom whilst Clint’s in the bath. It’s an overwhelming kind of emotion he’s not accustomed to, the idea of having to spend the rest of his life trapped in his own head._

_It’s that very thought that sends Clint into a full blown panic attack, his breath suddenly short and sharp, like all oxygen has been sucked from the room. He can feel the eyes of the other men in the room, knows that they’re probably whispering about him and calling him a freak. It’s not long before there’s a nurse at his side gently nudging at his shoulders to try and comfort him. But Clint can’t seem to catch his breath and she’s nudging his shoulders even harder, pain shooting through his shoulders-_

“Wake up.”

Clint’s eyes jump open to the face of a rather concerned looking fella, Barton recognises him as the man that was sleeping on the opposite side of the alley to him, his dirtied face is contorted with worry.

“You were going crazy, twitching and shouting. You okay?”

Clint reaches up to rub at his tender ears, the skin there is sore and worn from another night wearing his hearing aids.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” Clint mumbles, reaching across to rake his fingers across Lucky’s sleeping form.

“Ok,” the guy gives the archer a flat look, obviously seeing straight through the lie, and Clint wonders if he’s a vet as well. “I’ll be across the way if you need me.”

Clint nods and swallows thickly through the bitter taste the nightmare has left behind. It’s fairly warm already so the shivers running up and down his body dissipate quickly, he peers up at the sky and guesses from the golds and the yellows that it’s probably around 7am, unfortunately still too early to head back to the hospital.

He sighs and with shaky hands rummages through his bags, trying to find the apple that he knows is buried somewhere. Lucky starts to stir and grunts a little before cracking open his eye, giving Clint a rather pointed look.

“Not my fault, pal.” Clint whispers, smirking at the grumpy expression the dog is donning. He comes across a tin of pet food before he finds the apple, and takes a moment to crack it open and empty it onto the floor in front of Lucky, earning himself less of a glare from the dog. It’s only a few minutes later before he finds his apple, leaning back against the wall and taking a generous bite.

He sighs and closes his eyes in a bid to settle the anxious knot tightening in the very centre of his chest. The nightmare has left him feeling hollow and edgy. He has flashbacks and nightmares at least twice a week, but some are more vivid than others, working to throw Clint right back into the deep end.

He sighs again, shaky and uneven, opening his eyes to once again stare up at the sky, the slow movement of the clouds, and the beautiful assortment of colours sending a wave of reassurance washing over him. He’s in New York, he’s not in a hospital in Vienna, and he’s as safe as he can be.

He takes another bite of the apple, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of being watched, the guy from earlier sat across the way staring holes into his head.

“Rough time, pal?” The guy lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, watching Clint like a hawk, and this is really not what he needs right now. He just wants to be left alone.

“Guess you could say that,” the archer mumbles past his apple, dropping his eyes to give Lucky his full attention.

“I served,” here we go, Clint thinks, “six years. Came home and my wife had left me for some fucking dentist. Got myself drinking and eventually ended up losing the house.”

Clint swallows past the lump in his throat and forces himself to look at the other man.

“That sucks, bro.”

The man must sense Clint’s accidental hostility and sighs, sending the archer a frown before abruptly taking a swig of his cigarette and shutting up.

Lucky chooses this exact moment to stand up and stretch in an attempt to show Clint that he wants to walk, the mutt not enjoying staying in any one place for too long. The archer feels a great sense of relief at this gesture and quickly works to pack up all of his stuff, only glancing over at the other guy before getting out of there, the weight falling off his shoulders with each step.

God, anxiety has him fucked.

He chooses to walk to the hospital, arriving in good time, hazarding a guess that it probably only took him around forty five minutes which is great considering how it takes twenty minutes in a car. By the time he gets there the hospital is still dark and quiet, none of the staff on duty just yet.

But Clint doesn’t mind waiting. He takes a place on the floor besides the main doors that lead into reception. Lucky drops obediently at his side, the hot morning sun causing the poor dog to have quite the pant.

Clint reaches back into his bag and pulls out Lucky’s old food bowl again, though this time he half empties a bottle of water into it and watches as Lucky takes appreciative gulps, sparing Clint a grateful look between each lick.

“You’re here early.” Clint nearly jumps a mile at the gruff voice, instinctively reaching back to retrieve his bow. But after the initial panic his mind eases, realising that the voice is familiar, and when he turns to his right he sees Bucky, looking somewhat amused but also kind of concerned.

He looks messy and unkempt, but in a purposeful way. He has a leather jacket pulled over his uniform, and his unruly hair is once again pulled back into a messy bun, strands of hair falling out all over the place.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere to be.” Clint gives Bucky a shaky but relieved smile, and from the look on his face, he’s feeling pity on behalf of the archer.

“C’mon,” Bucky reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys before noticing Clint’s confused expression, “I’ll give you an early look over. I hate being inside on my own anyways, will be good to have some company.”

“You sure?” Clint ventures, as he tentatively starts to pack away his things again.

“Course’ I’m sure. Now c’mon.”

Bucky unlocks the doors and disables the alarms, before holding the door open at an arm’s length and gesturing for the pair to come inside. Clint swallows thickly and gives Lucky a somewhat apologetic look before draining the rest of the water away and hauling the mutt inside.

“There’s a fountain there.” Bucky nods in the direction of the reception desk whilst he proceeds to relock the door. “If you fill up his bowl and pop it down there, there’s pole round the side that you can leash him up to whilst I check on you.”

“Thanks.” Clint says timidly as he gently leads Lucky over to the desk, clipping his leash around the desk and working to refill his bowl.

Bucky meanwhile goes about turning on the lights and checking that everything is still intact, making sure to once over the security cameras behind the desk. And then he seems to settle a little, shrugging off his jacket and hooking on the back of a chair.

“So, Clint,” he starts, picking up a nearby clipboard and flicking through some notes until he gets to the archers. “How are those ribs and nose doing?”

Clint peers up from where he’s quietly petting Lucky, still a little rattled from earlier. Bucky picks up on this and offers him a warm smile, one that has Clint smiling back.

“Follow me. I’ll do a once over and then you can get showered and we’ll find you some food.” Bucky speaks gently, his voice sending waves of reassurance washing through the other man.

“What about Lucky?” Clint begins to stand up, not wanting to leave his loyal companion.

“He’ll be okay here, the others will be in soon, so they’ll see to it that he’s still alive and well.”

Clint sighs nods before following Bucky through into a well-lit examination room. It’s a little creepy being in a hospital like this, there’s no shouting or infernal beeping sounds, only the distant chirping of birds from somewhere beyond the window.

“Take a seat.” Bucky offers, as he hovers near the bed whilst gathering up some pieces of equipment.

Clint sits with a huff and watches Bucky go about his business, blushing a little when he catches himself admiring the nurse’s pert bum. He quickly adverts his eyes when Bucky straightens up again, looking anywhere but at the man.

Though when Bucky asks Clint to turn his head to face him, the nurse is smirking so Clint is almost certain that he must have caught on.

“Wow,” the nurse hooks a finger under Clint’s bearded chin. “The nose is definitely looking a lot better. You’ve been taking care of it I hope.”

“Well I haven’t been planking on the concrete if that’s what you’re asking.” Clint says with a little too much sarcasm, or he thought so before Bucky yelped a laugh.

“Touché.” Bucky meets Clint’s eyes for a moment before clearing his throat and dropping the hand still at his chin to flick through the notes. “And the ribs? How do they feel now?”

Clint automatically shifts his weight a little and winces slightly.

“They’re still pretty tender, but I’ve been trying my best to keep them cushioned.”

“You okay if I take a look?” Bucky asks gently, his previously mischievous expression replaced with something professional but soft.

Clint smiles back and nods, working to remove the top half of his clothing. Bucky meanwhile pulls on a pair of gloves and only reaches forward to examine the bruises once Clint nods at him again, some kind of unsaid language between the pair.

“Well, they’re certainly bruising up a storm,” the nurse says carefully, the delicate brush of his hands sending goosebumps up and down Clint’s body. “They don’t appear to have sustained any further damage.” Bucky gently prods, and although it sends little jolts of fire through Clint’s bones, it’s nothing unbearable.

“Okay, you seem to be mostly in working order. I’ll need you to swing by every few days or at least once a week so I can keep an eye on the progress, but for the most part you’re in one piece.”

Clint looks up at Bucky and gives him the most authentic smile that he can, but he knows from the way the other man looks at him that he’s not convinced.

“You alright, Clint?”

“Yeah, just been a rough couple of days,” he says honestly. He feels uncomfortable though, like he’s in therapy or something, so he adverts his eyes to look at his hands curled up in his lap, and so it catches him by surprise when Bucky reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that makes Clint’s head snap up.

“I don’t know what you’re going through right now in terms of your situation, but there’s a home for you here if you ever need it. You can hang around as long as you need to.” And something from the shimmer in Bucky’s eyes brings all kind of emotions bubbling up to the surface, and if it wasn’t for the sound of the main doors being unlocked Clint might have cried.

“James, are you seriously here this early!? I swear it gets earlier every day.” Clint recognises it to be Sam, and chuckles at the way Bucky rolls his eyes.

“C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.” Bucky says carefully, prompting Clint to shove his clothes back on and clamber up from the examination table.

“You shouldn’t be surprised, Sam. You know he likes to get in and fill out the papers so that he doesn’t have to do it later.” Clint hears Steve say and the pair wonder back into the reception area.

“I remember you.” The blonde woman from the other day, Sharon, is knelt down in front of Lucky giving him lots of attention.

“Wow, you’re all so mean to me.” Bucky announces, the others all turning to look at him as he wonders into the reception, and Clint would be lying if he said he didn’t feel out of place around all these fresh faced do-gooders.

“Well, we’ve got to keep you on your toes.” Clint hears a new voice, one that’s all too familiar and sends a sharp pang through his chest. It in fact is so familiar that Clint has to move to cling to the desk, steadying himself.

“Shut up, Nat.” Bucky chuckles.

And it’s then that a fiery redhead appears from somewhere behind Steve her eyes meeting Clint’s and her sentence cutting short.

The others pick up on that and turn to meet her gaze, peering curiously at Clint.

“Clint?” she ventures, her voice wobbly and thick.

Clint can’t muster words, tears already threatening his vision, he can barely stand, and he knows that his knuckles are probably turning white from how tightly he’s holding the desk.

“Natasha,” he manages to choke, and it’s not a second before he has an armful of his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm the absolute worst, and I'm so so sorry that it's been so goddamn long since I updated, are you guys still there?  
> It's been a manic few months for me, I got a new job, nearly broke my neck and ended up in hospital (oops) and I've been chasing my best friend around before she moved away!  
> It's been crazy, and I've felt terrible for not updating, but hopefully now that I only work three days a week, I can start regular updates again.  
> Thank you so much for being so patient, and for sticking around.  
> I haven't checked this for typos, so there might be a few.  
> Love you guys so much,  
> Sophie


	7. Chapter 7

Clint takes a deep breath in, relishing in the smell that is oh so, Natasha. He still can’t believe it, it’s actually her, his Natasha. There’s tears falling, he’s not even trying to hide them when he buries his head deeper into her shoulder, he just wants to be closer to her.

“It’s really you,” he whispers gently, his voice trembling as he does.

“I’m here,” is the emotional response.

Clint moves to peer up a little, and through the smudges of tears he notices the others watching, all of them looking confused and shocked, especially Bucky, whose brows are sewn together in a thick frown.

Clint gently unhooks Natasha and holds her at an arm’s length, searching her features. She’s aged a little, there’s some deeper set lines on her face, and scars scattered here and there, but mostly she’s still flawless, her eyes still bright with life, and her skin still glowing and soft.

She reaches out and runs a hand through Clint’s beard, a wobbly smile forming on her face. He’s never seen her this emotional, there’s tears staining her cheeks and she’s biting her lip to stop sobs.

“This beard is hideous,” she laughs, her voice breaking as she does. Clint captures her hand on his cheek and holds it tightly in his own, breaking her gaze to close his eyes and just cherish the moment. It’s not long before she’s got both of her hands clasped against his face, one still wrapped in his own. “Where have you been? Kate and I have been all over the place looking for you!”

Clint reopens his eyes and looks up at his old friend, his emotions just throwing themselves all over the place.

“I’ve been right here. I came back from LA after staying out with Kate for a while, and they evicted me. I had nowhere to go, and I didn’t know where to find you,” he shifts a little and pulls away, her hands dropping but her eyes still firmly holding his gaze. “What are you doing here?”

Natasha laughs at that and reaches up to wipe away any tears, choosing to peek over her shoulder to look at the others.

“Well, I bumped into Steve at a vets meeting a couple of years ago, and we kept in contact, so when he rung me up last year about opening up a hospital all paid for and sponsored by one Tony Stark, I wasn’t going to turn it down.”

Clint looks passed Natasha at Steve and the others, his body once again feeling like he’s been plunged into icy water.

“You’re a vet?” he watches Steve intently, noticing the way the man shifts between feet looking a little awkward.

“Yeah, forgot to mention that part,” the blonde is blushing, but his eyes are downcast and dark. It’s only when Bucky hooks an arm around his shoulder that he lightens up.

“Didn’t lose this arm in a drinking contest,” the nurse jokes, but his eyes are fixated on Clint and Natasha, his face contorted in confusion. “So, are you guys going to fill us in, or are we just going to leave our jaws on the floor. Nat never cries.” Bucky prods, his face splitting into a half smile.

Natasha mock hisses and moves back to loop her arm around her best friend, resting her head on his shoulder and smiling up at the others. Clint’s heart almost bursts with the familiarity of it all, how amazing it feels to have Nat back at his side.

“Well, you remember how I had that friend, the one I always talk about.” Natasha moves her head to look at Clint, her eyes glittering with emotion. “The one who got himself blown up by an IED whilst talking about Dog Cops.”

“Sergeant Whiskers got killed off, I was very concerned.” Clint offered, earning himself a slap from his friend.

“The one who got flown to Vienna, and then I never saw him again. Spent the past three years of my life searching high and low.” Natasha’s voice wobbles again as her arm tightens around the archer.

“Not sure why I didn’t put two and two together.” Bucky says, his eyes fixed firmly on Clint’s, and when their eyes meet the nurse is looking at the other man like he’s hung the stars in the sky. “Nat and Tony have been jabbering on about you since I met the pair of them.”

“Tony remembers me!?” Clint all but gasps, still watching Bucky whose expression flattens out into amusement.

“Fucking hell, it’s so obvious now, not sure how I missed it. Once Nat met Tony and she told her usual war hero story about her best friend who’d gone missing, Tony confirmed he’d also met the same guy not so long after, even offered him a job.” Bucky started laughing a little.

“They were a serious force to be reckoned with, once Tony managed to get back in contact with that other girl.” Sam begins, waving his hands around. “Ah, Kate, that’s it. And the three of them set out after you, they were unstoppable. I’ve heard the story a million times, we all have.” Sam offers before leaning down to pet Lucky.

“They couldn’t find you though. I honestly can’t believe none of us even twigged.” Bucky runs his hands through his hair, working to tighten his bun in the process. “In fairness, I had forgotten your name,” he smirks at Clint, prompting some butterflies to take flight in the pit of the archer’s stomach.

Natasha takes this moment to subtly poke Clint, prompting him to once again meet her gaze. She’s smirking at him, and when he frowns back in confusion she just turns back to look at Bucky. Typical, they’d been together for all of two minutes and Natasha is already playing match maker.

“So, what’s the deal with his face, Buck?” Natasha asks, not even bothering to look at the archer, but he can hear the smile in her voice. She’s definitely aware that Bucky is 100% Clint’s type.

Bucky smirks and looks Clint up and down.

“Well, he’s got a broken nose, but it’s mostly bruising. His ribs are the main concern.” Bucky finally strays away from the previously heavy conversation and everyone seems to relax. Sharon leaves down a separate hallway, and Steve and Sam begin their own conversation in the background, shrugging off their jackets in the process.

“What trouble have you been getting into?” Natasha asks, as she breaks away from Clint and turns to gently boop his nose.

She begins to take off her jacket and scarf, revealing the nurse’s outfit hiding beneath the fabrics. It’s weird seeing her in a uniform that isn’t military grade.

“Well.” Bucky drops to his knees in front of Lucky, causing the dog to perk up. He runs gentle hands through the dog’s matted sandy fur and chuckles before looking up at Clint. “Getting himself into fights whilst defending vulnerable members of the public.”

Natasha huffs a laugh and turns to once again face the two men, her hands cocking at her hips.

“Sounds like the Barton I know.”

Clint can feel himself blushing under the gaze of the pair, and moves to run his hand down the back of his neck, wishing his bow wasn’t on the floor with Lucky. And as if reading his mind, Natasha runs her eyes over the pile of stuff, noticing the bow almost immediately, despite it being partially concealed.

“Probably shouldn’t be carrying that around the streets. Might get yourself arrested,” she’s now crossed her arms, and is nodding in the direction of the bow.

Bucky follows her eyeline and his hands pause in Lucky’s fur, his eyes lighting up a little when he spots the shiny black riser.

“Is that a bow?”

“Here we go.” Clint mumbles, casting Natasha a glare, to which she just shrugs. “I was a sniper in the military, and I’m also an archer extraordinaire.”

“We called him Hawkeye, for his accuracy.” Natasha giggles before her laughter is cut short. Her eyes have darkened and she’s staring dead pan at Clint.

“Hawkeye!?” Bucky doesn’t seem to have noticed the sharp change in the woman.

“Those what Stark got you?” Natasha all but whispers, it’s only then that Clint realises she’s talking about his hearing aids, and he twigs that she literally hasn’t seen him since he got blown up.

He shy’s away a little and shrugs, casting his eyes to the floor. The last time he’d spoken to Nat and communicated with her properly, he could still hear her voice.

“Yeah. They’re great but I have to sleep in them most of the time, and they tend to hurt.”

Natasha sighs and pulls her hair behind her ears, her eyes flicking between the two men.

“Well you can bet your ass that I’m going to get Stark to upgrade them,” she starts.

“Nat-“

“He’ll do it for free. Tony might live a lavish lifestyle but you should know that he’s kind, especially with vets.” Bucky says gently, a sympathetic smile playing on his lips.

“Especially with Steve.” Sam snorts from elsewhere in the room.

“Shut up!” Steve hisses, his cheeks glowing with a blush.

Clint suddenly feels very out of his depth, realising that this is the first group interaction he’s had in years. He shifts between his feet feeling really uncomfortable, and closes his eyes to draw in a deep breath.

_In, 1 2 3 4. Out, 1 2 3 4._

“Clint.” Natasha’s hand landing on his shoulder makes him jump, something that doesn’t go unmissed by the rest of the group. Steve’s expression falls a little, and Clint sees a reflection of himself in the other man’s demeanour.  “You’re not alone, not anymore. I’m so sorry that this world failed you, especially after all the sacrifices you’ve made, but we’re going to get you back on track, okay?”

“Nat.” Clint whispers, his voice shaky and uneven. Bucky seems to note the depth of the conversation and saunters over to Steve and Sam, nudging them further away to talk about what’s on the rota for the day. “I think I’m beyond help,” the archer chuckles sadly.

“No. No-one is beyond help. Listen, you’re coming home with me. We’re going to get you tidied up, and we’re going to sort your life out, okay?”

Clint’s stomach drops, the anxious knot in the centre of his chest tightening and then loosening up again. The whole situation seems surreal, like he’s been dropped into the verses of a book, said book having some romanticised happy ending.

“Natasha, you really don’t have to-“

“Don’t Natasha me, you’re my best friend, and I have missed you so much. We lived out of each other’s pocket for years, surely I’m not that bad to live with?” she chuckles, but her expression flattens out into something more serious, a smile hiding somewhere in her eyes.

“Jesus Christ.” Clint leaps forwards and scoops her up into his arms, burying his head in her shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she says gently against the crook of his neck. “But we need to get you and the dog a bath!”

Clint laughs and pulls away, blinking the tears from his eyes.

“I’ll go happily,” he peers back at Lucky. “But have fun with him!”

It’s not fifteen minutes later that Clint finds himself loading his belongings into the boot of Natasha’s Toyota. He’s chirpy and hopeful, the whole thing feeling like he’s floating on cloud nine, awaiting his fall from grace at any moment.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to leave? I don’t want the others to be short staffed,” he asks Natasha as she walks towards the car with Clint’s guitar shrugged over her shoulder.

“They’ll be fine. I told them I’ll come back later on once you’re settled,” she smiles, and the sight has got Clint swelling with emotion again. There’s been a huge Natasha shaped hole in his life for so long, and it’s just amazing to see her right there in front of him, the time in which they last spoke seeming like only yesterday. “Can’t believe you’re still carrying this old thing around.”

Natasha pulls the guitar from her shoulder and eyes it before carefully laying it in the boot, the tone of her voice suggested she thought it was rubbish, but the way in which she handles the instrument shows that she respects his stuff, and understands the sentimental value of the guitar.

“Yeah well, a man has to make a living,” he chuckles in time for Lucky to whine and paw at his trouser leg, clearly feeling deprived of attention.

“Think we better get a move on, he seems impatient,” she laughs, snapping the boot shut.

Clint leans down and rubs a hand through Lucky’s fur, the dog almost sighs and leans his chin against the man’s knee. Clint is sure that if he could smile, he would be.

“C’mon, pal,” he coos, nudging at the dog and opening the back door for him to hop into the passenger seats. Lucky goes without argument and pants happily, even once Clint has shut the door on him.

He casts another look over at the hospital. The main doors are now pressed open, and already people are beginning to pile in, Steve already helping one rather weak looking man. The archer sighs, feeling a pang of guilt at the idea of hundreds upon thousands of others having to spend another night on the streets.

“Clint?”

He spins his head round to find Nat leaning against the door on the driver’s side, she’s watching him carefully, and he knows that she’s trying to read his expression and posture.

“I’m good,” he says, forcing a smile onto his features.

“You sure?” she presses as they clamber into the car.

“Yep.”

Natasha sighs heavily and twists the keys in the ignition, the radio making Clint jump a little as it springs to life.

_I feel glorious, glorious_

_Got a chance to start again_

_I was born for this, born for this_

_It's who I am, how could I forget?_

_I made it through the darkest part of the night_

_And now I see the sunrise_

_Now I feel glorious, glorious_

_I feel glorious, glorious_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awh, I love you guys so much. Thank you for all the support, for the lovely comments, and all the kudos!  
> I'm really re-immersing myself in this story, and I can't wait to keep you guys updated!  
> So here's another chapter, Clint is feeling a bit panicky, but mostly amazing!  
> Thanks again,  
> Sophie xo  
> song is Glorious by Macklemore


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